


things to do in chicago

by Spikedluv



Series: from the ashes series [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), due South
Genre: Gen, M/M, Missing Scene, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-10-01 20:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: Clint has a life-altering meeting when he’s on a mission in Chicago





	things to do in chicago

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelskuuipo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelskuuipo/gifts).

> This story timeline bounces around: from pre-Avengers to post-Avengers and post-CA:TWS and from early season 4 due South to post-finale due South.
> 
> This story is a birthday fic for Angelskuuipo who (inadvertently) requested a missing scene from my Steve/Bucky Capreversebb fic [from the ashes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19105237). I hope you enjoy it! [For more information on how this fic came to be, see the end notes.]
> 
> I’m also using this to fill the _Reunion_ square on my card for Round 13 of [Trope Bingo on DW](http://trope_bingo.dreamwidth.org).
> 
> Written: August 25, 2019

Clint Barton sat in front of the computer for a few moments after he made sure the line was secure, gathering himself to make the call. He hadn’t talked to Benton Fraser or Ray Kowalski for almost a year. Not since he’d returned to New York City after he got the call informing him that Phil Coulson was alive.

Clint had been put on medical leave after the Battle of New York. He’d attended mandatory therapy sessions and helped with the clean up, but he was still a mess. The guilt of having been responsible for the death of so many agents ate at him, but it was the grief over Phil’s death, and the fact that he’d assisted the person who’d killed the man he loved, that was the hardest for Clint to deal with. That Loki had played with his mind and taken his free will didn’t make Clint feel any better. It had still been his knowledge, his hands, that had allowed Loki to do so much damage.

Six weeks after the battle Clint couldn’t take it anymore. He left a note for Fury (stuck to the back of his locked office door with an arrow), stole a Quinjet, and took off for Canada. At the time, Clint hadn’t seen or spoken to Ben or Ray for over six years, but they took him in and gave him both space and someone to talk to if he needed it. Clint smiled now as he recalled the greeting Diefenbaker had given him when he’d merged from the cloaked jet. He reached up and touched the side of his face where Dief had slobbered all over him.

Clint shook away the memories and made the call.

“Hey,” Ray said when he answered the call. “Didn’t think we were ever gonna hear from you again.”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Sorry about that. I’ve been busy, but that’s no excuse.”

Ray harrumphed. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re counting the gray hairs.”

Clint laughed. “It’d be easier to count the ones that are still blond.”

“Fuck you,” Ray said. “What’s up?”

“First tell me how you guys are.”

“Good,” Ray said. “Ben got another promotion.”

“He did not!”

Ray laughed at Clint’s response. “He’s become more of a legend than an oddity to the younger generation of Mountie. We helped the Hanson’s, you might remember them, rebuild after a fire. Dief had another litter with his pretty wolf girlfriend.”

“I bet they’re adorable! Send pictures.”

“I will. Now it’s your turn.”

Clint took a breath. “Is this still a secure line?”

Ray’s shoulders straightened. “Yes. You need Ben?”

“I need both of you,” Clint said, and didn’t realize until that moment how much he meant it.

Ray gave Clint a look as if he understood and called out, “Ben! Hey, Benton! Clint needs to talk to us!”

A moment later Ben, an apron tied around his waist and a kitchen towel flung over his shoulder, peered at the screen over Ray’s shoulder. “Clint! How are you doing?”

“Good,” Clint said. “You guys both look great.” They were both older and greyer, but they were definitely a sight for sore eyes. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

Ben rubbed a thumb across his eyebrow. “They had to promote me or move me,” he said with his usual level of self-deprecation, “and no one else wants this post.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“You needed to speak with us?” Ben said, a sad attempt to change the subject, but Clint allowed it.

“Yeah, it’s important and there’s a bit of a time crunch.”

Ben pulled up a chair and sat beside Ray. “Tell us.”

Clint told them. And as he’d hoped, Ben and Ray were willing to help.

~*~

In the weeks leading up to Canada Day (C-Day for short), as Clint was calling it, he was too busy to think about the past, but Steve was mostly quiet on the flight to the Northern Territories so he had plenty of time to wander down memory lane.

Clint had been tucked up in the doorway of a closed dress shop the first time he met Constable Benton Fraser back in 1998. He’d been twenty-two and certain he’d seen and knew it all.

From his position Clint had a direct line of sight to the office building he was surveilling. It was still cold at night in Chicago in April, so Clint had on several layers. It was a sad statement of his current state that he could wear his own clothes to impersonate a homeless person. They’d never had much, even when their parents were alive, but he’d fallen onto even rougher times since Barney had abandoned him.

A dog whined, dragging Clint out of his thoughts. He shook his head to clear it; he couldn’t afford to be distracted. When Clint got a good look at the animal, he realized that it wasn’t a dog at all.

“Dief,” a man’s voice said. “Dief, come. Ray’s waiting for us.”

The animal whined again and stayed put, even though Clint tried to shoo it away.

“Diefenbaker.” The man was definitely exasperated now. And drawing closer. “What are you doing? We’re not adopting another cat, especially if she’s pregnant.”

A pair of brown leather riding boots – clean and shiny, as if the slush hadn’t dared stick to them – appeared in front of Clint. His gaze slid over blue jodhpurs with a yellow stripe and a blue peacoat over red serge as he raised his eyes to the man’s face, above which sat a wide-brimmed Stetson with a high, pinched crown. Clint asked the first question that came to his mind. “Is that a wolf?”

“Half-wolf,” the man said as if that should reassure Clint. “He’s got a permit.”

“Okay,” Clint said dubiously. He held out a hand and let the _half_-wolf sniff at him.

The man rubbed his thumb over an eyebrow. “Can I . . . ? There’s a shelter a couple blocks over. Well, 2.4 miles, actually. Could I take you there?”

“Already full,” Clint said. He hadn’t actually checked, but he knew they filled up quickly, especially on nights like this. “Besides,” he went on, “I can’t . . . Nightmares.”

That part wasn’t a lie.

“Oh, well, alright,” the man said.

“You a Mountie?” Clint said. It was either that or the man was coming from some sort of costume party.

“Oh my, yes, please forgive my rudeness. It was not my fault,” he said in an aside to the half-wolf Diefenbaker. The man squared his shoulders, not that they hadn’t been pretty stiff to begin with. “My name is Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”

“Cool,” Clint said, forgetting his purpose for being curled up in a doorway for the moment. “What are you doing in Chicago?”

“Well, I first came to Chicago on the trail of my father’s killers and, for reasons that do not need exploring at this juncture, I’ve remained attached as liaison to the Canadian consulate.”

“Okay. What, um, what’s he doing?”

Dief was sniffing Clint and had practically climbed into the already full doorway to sniff behind him. Dief triumphantly came up with a piece of crust from a pizza Clint had bought with money he’d stolen from a douchebag who had yelled at and kicked a homeless woman when he tripped over her cart while talking on his phone. It had been his fault, but he’d taken it out on her. Clint had shared the pizza and some of his ill-gotten gains with her, even though he suspected that she’d spend it on booze. Who wouldn’t, when this was their life?

“Oh . . .” Crap! Clint thought, too late remembering his cover as a homeless person. “I found that in a dumpster?”

“Dief, no, don’t!” But it was too late. Dief had scarfed the crust down as if he was starving. “Diefenbaker,” Constable Fraser said, his tone one of disappointment. “That was exceedingly rude. This man . . . I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Clint.”

“Clint.” Fraser held out his hand and Clint automatically reached out to take it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. As I was saying,” Fraser said, returning to his conversation with the deaf half-wolf, “Clint needed that more than you did. I don’t care how good it smelled.” Fraser gave Dief an affronted look. “You just ate! All of your portion and half of mine, I might add. Oh, very funny. You snooze, you lose does not apply to food on my plate when you know I’m coming right back. As I was saying, there’s no way you could possibly still be hungry.”

Fraser spoke to Clint, pointedly ignoring Dief. “I’m going to replace what Dief ate.”

“Oh, no,” Clint said, feeling bad since he’d eaten half a pizza earlier, “you don’t have to do that.”

“I most certainly do. And it’s coming out of the donut fund,” Fraser said, directing that last to Dief, who whined as if he understood the intent, if not the words themselves. “You stay here and keep Clint company. I’ll be right back.”

“Well,” Clint said as Fraser disappeared down the sidewalk. “This is another fine mess you’ve gotten us into.”

Dief climbed back into the doorway and laid half onto Clint, who didn’t complain because Dief gave off a lot of heat. Clint dug his fingers into Dief’s fur as he continued to watch the building and make notes when someone entered or exited. He tucked the pencil and paper back into his pocket when he heard the now-familiar sound of boots on the pavement.

A moment later Fraser stood over Clint. He gave Dief a look. “Are you keeping him warm or trying to sniff out more food?” Fraser shook his head at whatever Dief ‘said’ in response. “Have a little dignity, Diefenbaker.”

Fraser handed a take-out bag to Clint. “Tomato soup and grilled cheese. I should’ve asked what you liked before I left.”

“No, this is great,” Clint said. “And very kind of you. Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome,” Fraser said. “Well, we should be going. Come on, Dief, we need to get back.”

Fraser turned to leave, then turned back. “Listen, Clint, if there’s ever anything I can do for you, you can reach me at the consulate.” He withdrew a card from his pocket and handed it to Clint.

Clint swallowed hard as he took the card. It had been a while since anyone had treated him with so much kindness. “Thank you. Goodbye, Constable.”

“Goodbye, Clint.”

~*~

Clint wondered if running into Constable Benton Fraser was a sign, but he spent the next few days continuing with his mission. Gordon Massey was a very bad man, but he had yet to be held to account. Massey thought he was above the law, and so far he’d been proven right. The law might not be able to make Massey pay for his transgressions, but Clint could.

He sat in different doorways surrounding the office building, sometimes during the day, but mostly during the night, until he had the nighttime schedule down. On the fourth night Clint slipped into the office building when one of the janitorial crew didn’t relock the door after dumping some bags of garbage into the dumpster.

Clint made his way to the top floor and picked the lock to Massey-Wilhelm & Associates, LLC. Clint didn’t waste time with the reception desk, copy rooms or conference rooms he passed on his way to Massey’s office. He paused to check the desk of Massey’s administrative assistant. Her computer was locked. So was her desk, but Clint could break into that easily enough if he needed to.

Clint continued into Massey’s office. The office resembled Massey himself – files left out and his computer hibernating just as Clint had been told they would be, as if he had nothing to hide, or more likely knew that nothing he had here would ever be used against him because he had the connections to make any investigation go away. However, when Massey was found dead in his office it would all come out, and people would wonder why the local police or the FBI hadn’t done anything to put a stop to his illicit business activities, at least until another story came along and pushed that one off the front page.

Clint slid a zip disk into the drive and followed the directions that popped up on the screen. While the computer was downloading its incriminating information onto the disk Clint turned to the picture window. It was made of bullet proof glass, so Massey thought he was safe in his seat of power. Clint placed four small, nearly undetectable charges in the corners of the window, which he would blow when he was ready to carry out the final stage of his contract.

Clint removed the disk when the computer beeped to indicate that the file transfer was completed. He made his way to the basement and exited the way he’d entered, a garbage bag in his hand as cover. Clint dropped the bag into the dumpster and headed out of the alley behind the office building. He came up short when Constable Fraser and Diefenbaker stood in the middle of the alley blocking his path.

Clint’s heart started beating rapidly. “Hey, Dief,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t give away the unwelcome shock. “Constable. What brings you both back out here?”

“We came to check on you,” Fraser said. “What are you doing, Clint?”

Clint recognized the disappointment in Fraser’s tone from when he’d spoken to Dief the other night about stealing Clint’s food. “Work,” Clint said, improvising. He jerked his thumb back the way he’d come. “Cleaning crew.”

“So you’re telling me that if I call the offices of Duty-Do they’ll list a ‘Clint’ on their employment roster?”

“Yes,” Clint lied with conviction. That’s one thing he’d learned to do well.

“Very well,” Fraser said.

Clint didn’t know if that meant Fraser believed him or that he was going to call the cleaning service to follow up.

“May I buy you supper?”

Clint had enough money left from the douchebag to buy his own supper, though he’d have liked the company. “No, thank you,” he said instead of accepting like he really wanted to. “I’m not sure I could withstand the whole . . . ,” Clint indicated his own face, “. . . disappointed thing you’ve got going on.”

“Are you in trouble, Clint?”

Clint barked out a humorless laugh. People rarely asked Clint if he was in trouble; he was the trouble. “No.”

Clint didn’t run until he was a couple blocks away and sure that Constable Fraser hadn’t followed him. “Shit!” Clint swore. “Shit!” Fraser wouldn’t be able to stop Clint from doing what needed to be done, but he’d seen Clint’s face, and while Fraser didn’t know Clint’s last name, Clint had stupidly given Fraser his real first name. “Fucking shit.”

~*~

The zip disk was insurance. It was possible that Massey’s death wouldn’t trigger an investigation into his illegal activities, in which case a flood of information would be released to the local newspapers. Clint was supposed to make the drop before he finished his assignment, just in case he didn’t get away cleanly, but something made him hold onto it.

Clint was on the roof of a building three blocks over from the building Massey’s offices were in. It was nearly five-thirty in the morning and Massey would be arriving in the next half-hour. His penchant for going in early would be his undoing.

Clint had used the last of the stolen money to buy a breakfast sandwich and a cup of coffee at an all-night diner. He’d filled up his thermos before he left. Clint was currently weighing the benefits of keeping warm versus a too full bladder. He wouldn’t be up there much longer, so if worse came to worst he’d dump out what was left of the coffee and use the thermos for a purpose the manufacturers hadn’t originally intended.

Clint placed the thermos into his bag and unpacked his bow. He laid everything out on the open leather case. Clint strung his bow and double-checked the draw. He chose one arrow and carefully checked the tip and the fletching. Clint placed the arrow to the string and sighted along it. He’d chosen the spot when he first arrived in Chicago, but it never hurt to be careful.

Clint set the bow and arrow down. He closed his eyes and breathed, letting calm overtake him. He didn’t need to in order for his aim to be true, but it gave him something to do while he waited for his mark to show up.

Clint didn’t open his eyes when he heard a sound behind him. Beside his client, only one person even knew he was in Chicago, and it didn’t surprise Clint that Constable Fraser had been able to locate him, even high up on the roof of a building.

“Hawkeye,” Fraser said. “The World’s Greatest Marksman.”

Clint tensed and only briefly considered playing dumb. “How did you know?”

“I felt your calluses the first night we met,” Fraser said, “when we shook hands. I was curious, so I did some research.”

Clint ignored the fact that Fraser had been able to find out that much about him in such a short amount of time, but he shoved it into the back of his mind to deal with later. “You’re tenacious, Constable, I’ll give you that.”

“I’m hoping to keep you from making a mistake.”

“What makes you think it’ll be a mistake?”

“In the course of my investigation, I discovered reports of the deaths of several men by bow and arrow.”

There were more than ‘several’, but Clint wasn’t going to tell Fraser that. “Very bad men, so I’ll ask you again, what makes you think it’ll be a mistake?”

Fraser stood beside Clint now. He looked down at the bow and arrow laid out for Clint’s use. “What else could it be?”

“Justice.”

“Justice comes from within the legal system,” Fraser said.

“Only for some, but not when it comes to people like Massey,” Clint said. “He’s protected. It’s like pulling teeth to get anyone to believe the so-called rumors about his illicit activities, and when they do bring charges, they slide right off him like he’s coated in Teflon.”

“So you’re just going to kill him? That’s not justice.”

“No,” Clint agreed. “Justice would be making him experience the same pain and fear as all the young girls and boys he trafficked. But this will have to do.”

The light went on in Massey’s office. Clint picked up the bow.

“I can’t let you do this, Clint.”

“There’s only one way to stop me.” Clint picked up the arrow.

“Does it have to be today?” Fraser said desperately.

Clint placed the arrow to the string, only half-listening to Fraser. “What?”

“The . . . assassination. Does it need to be carried out today?”

“No,” Clint admitted. There had been no time-table other than as soon as possible so he could get paid, and Clint hadn’t yet told his client that he had the zip disk.

“Then give me twenty-four hours to prove to you that we can find justice another way.”

Even though he’d picked up the bow and arrow, Clint knew that Fraser wouldn’t just stand by and allow him to take the shot. This attempt had been blown the moment he shook Fraser’s hand three nights ago, he just hadn’t known it then. If Fraser was correct and charges could be brought that would stick, then it was possible his client would be satisfied. If not, then Clint would need time to find another perch.

“Fine,” Clint said. “Twenty-four hours.”

~*~

Fraser introduced Clint to his partner at the CPD, Detective Raymond Vecchio and the three of them brainstormed a way to get the information to an Assistant State Attorney named Stella Kowalski so that it could be used against Massey in court. The zip disk Clint had wouldn’t be admissible; according to Vecchio, the evidence couldn’t be fruit of the poisonous vine. Fraser had looked like he wanted to correct Vecchio, but merely said, “Close enough, Ray.”

Clint hadn’t told them about the explosives. He heard enough to know that once the police were on-scene they could collect anything that looked suspicious if it was in plain sight.

“Okay,” Clint said, “no poisonous vine.”

Fraser opened his mouth, then closed it.

“Just be ready at 5:30 am tomorrow morning.”

“For what?” Fraser said.

“For all hell to break loose, hopefully.”

Clint snuck back into the office building that night. He’d printed out enough incriminating information from the zip disk to get the attention of anyone who responded to the 9-1-1 call – photos and invoices and transcripts of telephone conversations – and he spread it all out on Massey’s desk. Clint was back in his nest the next morning. At 5:30am on the dot Clint set off the charges and watched the chaos that ensued.

His client refused to pay him the rest of the money, but Clint walked away from Chicago feeling good about the job he’d done. He’d gotten another scumbag off the street (and his associates this time, as well) and he’d met Constable Benton Fraser.

~*~*~*~

Clint had been back to Chicago twice since meeting Ben, Ray and Diefenbaker. The second visit Clint was working for SHIELD and Ray had a different last name. By the third visit Ray had already retired from the force and moved to Canada with Ben.

Clint credited Ben for opening him up to the possibilities of working for the good guys by showing him that justice could be had and it didn’t have to come at the end of an arrow. (The ironly being that SHIELD had been most interested in Clint because of his aim.)

Clint didn’t know he was going to do it until he input the coordinates for the Fraser-Kowalski cabin. Clint was running radio silent so he couldn’t call ahead or let Phil know he’d made the drop without a hitch and was making another stop before returning home.

Clint surveyed the area to make sure Ben and Ray didn’t have any visitors, then settled the cloaked Quinjet behind the cabin. Just like last time, Dief was the first to greet Clint when he stepped off the ramp. Clint used the remote to close the ramp and went to his knees for a proper hello.

Dief was dignified in his greeting – if having your whole face licked was considered dignified – but the two pups that raced around Dief’s paws jumped on Clint until he gave up the fight with gravity.

“Diefenbaker,” Ben said as he and Ray approached.

Dief, who’d been sitting regally and watching his offspring alternately lick Clint’s face and pull his hair, merely gave Ben a look.

“Yes, I know _you’re_ not doing it,” Ben said, “but you could call them off.”

Dief gave Ben a look that clearly said, yes, I _could_, then gave a wolfy-grin at the mess the two pups had made of Clint.

Ray found a stick and got the pups’ attention before throwing it. They both bounded off, allowing Clint to sit up.

“I hope you guys aren’t gonna greet me like that,” Clint said, taking the hand-up Ben offered him.

“It was on the table,” Ray said. “You know how much Ben likes to lick things. But hopefully not after that.”

Clint laughed and it turned into a sob he didn’t quite managed to choke back in time. “Jeeze, I’ve missed you guys. I didn’t realize how much.”

Clint let Ben pull him into a firm hug. “We’re happy to see you, too, Clint.”

Ben passed Clint to Ray – who wasn’t as solidly-built as Ben, but who’d put on more muscle since chopping wood and working on motors became part of his daily life – and he held Clint just as tightly for a few seconds before releasing him.

“So,” Clint said, suddenly feeling awkward. “I can’t stay, I just, I was in the area . . .”

“‘In Canada’ is hardly the same as ‘in the area’,” Ben said, “but we’re glad you stopped by.”

Clint didn’t bother explaining that the Quinjet really burned up the miles, merely nodded at Ben’s comment.

“Did your drop-off go okay?” Ray said. He’d made Clint swear in blood that he wasn’t pulling one over on them when he’d first called them for help relocating Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes to a safe place.

“It went well,” Clint said, smiling. “Becca loves Muppet.”

“Heh, Muppet,” Ray said.

Clint hesitated a moment before asking, “You’ll keep an eye on them?”

Ben laid a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “Of course.”

Yipping and growling, the pups fought over the stick until Dief separated them with a low growl of his own.

“Thank you,” Clint said. “Not just for this. For . . . everything.”

“You don’t need to thank us, Clint,” Ben said. “But you’re welcome all the same.”

Clint nodded, not sure he’d be able to speak. Ben was the first person to look at Clint and see good in him. Clint wouldn’t ever forget that.

“Come back some time when you can stay longer,” Ray said.

“I will,” Clint said, meaning it.

“And bring your fella.”

Clint’s cheeks warmed. “What . . . I don’t . . .”

“You flew out of here pretty quick for someone who was just a friend.”

“Yes,” Ben said. “Sometimes seeing the lengths to which someone will go for you can be illuminating.”

Ray gave Ben a look filled with love. “Wait ‘til the kid’s gone before you start getting frisky, Benton.”

Ben merely smiled at Ray.

“So you were saying about leaving?” Ray said to Clint.

Clint laughed and gave them both another hug. “I’ll be better about keeping in touch, I promise.”

As Clint turned to re-enter the Quinjet, Dief nosed one of the pups towards him. “I didn’t forget you, buddy,” Clint said. He squatted and gave Dief a good petting in goodbye. “Next time I come visit I’ll bring donuts.”

Dief woofed as if he understood and agreed. Clint gave each of the pups a rub, then stood. Once more Dief nosed one of the pups towards Clint.

“I’ve already said goodbye, Dief.”

“I think Dief wants you to take him,” Ben said.

“Oh,” Clint said. “I couldn’t do that. He’s yours.”

Ben’s voice was thick when he said, “This will probably be Dief’s last litter. I think he’s keeping one so we won’t be alone when . . .” Ben had to stop talking. Ray rubbed Ben’s arm and said something too soft for Clint to hear. Ben cleared his throat and said, “Of course.”

“Dief wants you to have one of his progeny, don’t you boy?” Ray said.

Dief made a sound that even Clint had to take as agreement.

“Thank you, Dief.” Even though they lived in a secret base and on a plane most of the time, Clint didn’t even consider turning down Dief’s offer. “I really appreciate it.”

Clint studied the pup. “I’m gonna call him Lucky.” He sniffed. “Because every time I look at him I’m gonna remember how lucky I am that I met you guys. All three of you,” Clint amended when Dief barked.

Ben gave Clint another hug.

“How did I get stuck with two saps,” Ray said, surreptitiously wiping his eye.

Ben drew Ray into a three-way hug that became four-way when Dief nosed his way in.

“I love you, guys. You too, Dief.”

“And we love you,” Ben said.

Clint reluctantly pulled away. “Come on, Lucky. Let’s go see Phil.”

Lucky gave Dief a long look – Clint got the sense that they were communicating silently – then trotted up the ramp after Clint. At the top, Clint stopped to take a long look at Ben and Ray, Dief and his remaining pup. They’d been an anchor when he didn’t have one and eventually became his family.

Clint waved, then hit the button to close the ramp. It was time to go back home, which was anywhere Phil was, but he wouldn’t wait so long to come visit next time.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> A little bit of backstory for those of you who might not understand why this fic exists: I wrote a Steve/Bucky fic for Capreversebb that I posted back in June ([from the ashes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19105237)) in which I included an unnamed crossover just for funsies and implied that Clint Barton had once upon a time met Benton Fraser and Ray Kowalski from the fandom ‘due South’ during a mission in Chicago.
> 
> Angelskuupio made the mistake of saying, “Now I really want to read the fic where Clint met Fraser and RayK.” My brain went, “heh,” and the idea for this fic was born. And by born I mean it took me three attempts (quite literally) to write a fic that satisfied me. (Both previous attempts came in at 30 handwritten pages (~6,000 words) each, meaning a total of 12,000 words ended up on the scrap heap.) It wasn’t a complete loss, though, because I used some of the ideas I had come up with in those previous incarnations in this story.
> 
> I’m pleased with how the final version turned out and I hope all of you enjoy it.


End file.
